


the silver screen

by sayoteel



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, Prompt Fic, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-04 06:49:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5324561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sayoteel/pseuds/sayoteel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Hello? Is there anybody in there? Just nod if you can hear me. Is there anyone home?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	the silver screen

**Author's Note:**

> a boring, silly thing.  
> the word for this week's prompt was "labyrinthine".

He could only move his eyes and they darted around the room so quickly that his head began to hurt. Something was  _burning_ , perhaps from the cafeteria, perhaps his inner organs.

The screens were black, flickering, but mostly black. Yawning before him, humming lowly, a song only he could hear, and he had heard it many times before.

He felt the  _fingers_  on his face before he even realized that someone was next to him. 

A  _click_  of teeth. A voice,  _condescending_. Somebody laughed from behind him. Something  _wet_ , something  _warm_ , pressed itself against the side of his face for just a moment,  _sliding_ , brushing against his eyelashes before pulling away.

Another laugh. Multiple people. 

At one point in time, he would’ve insulted them, screamed. Maybe he would have even gotten a few punches in for good measure. He would’ve fought them tooth and nail, would’ve acted fearless, because that was what he had spent so long doing.

 _Acting_. _Pretending_.  _ **Controlling**_.

Now his body was  **not his own**.  **Nothing was his own** **anymore** and things were just like before, way back when. It was too familiar, this  _power imbalance_ , and it left him feeling cold.

Cold. The restraints were too tight and the metal was cold, biting into his skin. He was being whispered to, breath hot against his ear.

The words were difficult to comprehend but they fell into place eventually with the slow thickness of rocks sinking into syrup. They lilted gently, as if they were being spoken to a small child.

“…going to be  _ **good**_  for us today? Are you going to  ** _play nice_** , Gluskin?”

As if he had a  **choice**. As if he had the  **power**  to say no.

He didn’t move, his tongue writhing inside his mouth, eyes still fluttering like moths. He couldn’t nod even if he wanted to.

_And he didn't want to._

“Are you going to be  _ **difficult** **?**_ You  _ **know**_  what happens to difficult patients.  _ **I know you know**_.”

The screens came to life before him. Blinding.

That was when he began to struggle. 

He jerked his head up against the brace holding him down, a futile effort but one driven by the thoughtlessness of panic.

He had tried to break these same restraints before, tried and tried again. Somehow, it felt better to say that he had tried. Even though they never broke and they never would, he could hide in his cell later that day and tell himself that he tried.

“ **Enough**.”

Annoyed with him. A parent putting up with an unruly child. 

No. More like an  ** _owner_**  berating their  ** _dog_**.

A small whimper, a hiss of breath as the restraints around his wrists cut into him. He tried to turn his head, tried to beg, because  _this was all a mistake_.

“ _ **Enough**_.”

It was harsher this time and he recoiled slightly when a rough hand grabbed him by the hair and directed his attention back to the screens, holdinghim there.

Flickering. Watching him.  _Lobotomizing_   _him_.

The drugs they had shot him up with a few minutes ago were taking hold now, pulling him into the ebb and flow of broken consciousness. 

His eyes stung already, as if from the salt of the dark ocean they were about to drown him in.

“…and we’re gonna make this  _ **really easy**_ , okay?”

He was subconsciously steeling himself, falling back into the coping mechanisms that had landed him in this position in the first place, with strange hands petting him, with the pounding of his heart threatening to break his ribs open.

He could hear himself starting to plead out loud now, pleading for mercy to machines.

A feeble attempt. Another “ _please_ ” uttered through numb, drooling lips.

“ _Aw_.  _ **Poor**   **baby**_.”

Laughter. Mirthless.

So close to his face, he could feel a phantom kiss being trailed along his cheek.

“You’re gonna have some  _ **nice dreams**_  for us now, okay?”

Images began to flash on the screen and his eyes  **locked**  onto them and they hurt. They were pieces of himself all clumped together and pixelated and being seared into his brain all over again and it hurt like hell.

He was screaming now, he thought. He  _must’ve_  been. He could feel the rawness in his throat and the tightness in his chest and he could hear, in some corner of the room, more laughter.

The pictures flashed too quickly. He was  _collapsing_  in on himself, back into the _**labyrinthine**_ forest of  **habits**  and  **instincts**  and  **stifling**   **lust** stirring inside him. 

Things _buried_  by the man who told the court a few months back that he had never committed a single crime. 

It was only the screens now, _digging_  and  _digging_  away at rotting tissue, excavating the maggots and letting them be  **remembered**. He couldn't bargain with them. He couldn't lie to them.

They were mirrors.

He was dreaming now and he desperately wished he was asleep.

Fingers coiled into his hair again. 

 _A_   _woman’s_   _smile_.  _A_   _woman’s_   _scorn_. 

Something was  _burning_.  _Fingers_  on his face. Something  _wet_. Something  _warm_.


End file.
